


Aegis

by grelleswife



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/F, Hannah protects her wife, Trans Female Character, bisexual Grelle, female pronouns for Grelle, lesbian Hannah, mainly choking and breakage of bones, some violence, the reaper OC misgenders Grelle, they are recently married, they have demon markings that look like flower tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 21:20:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20264674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grelleswife/pseuds/grelleswife
Summary: Grelle has deserted the dispatch to marry Hannah, and all is well...until a reaper unexpectedly appears threatening to apprehend her.





	Aegis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShyWhovian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyWhovian/gifts).

> Written for one of my Grelle fandom peeps for a Tumblr verb prompt with the word "protect." I finagled a way to tie it into the Sapphic Sutcliff Week "marriage" prompt, too.
> 
> I'm not certain if I explain it well enough in the text, but Hannah and Grelle have both acquired markings on their bodies that resemble flower tattoos. In this AU, such signs appear when a demon pair-bonds with their mate, indicating that their significant other has essentially attained the status of a spouse. I hope to explore this in greater depth in a separate fic at some point!
> 
> In Greek mythology, the aegis was a powerful object carried by Zeus and Athena. While there is considerable controversy over the exact nature of the aegis, it is thought by some to be a shield bearing the head of Medusa.

Spring had come, and the pastoral countryside was resplendent in its beauty. Wildflowers and lush, emerald-green grass adorned the rich, dark earth with color. Birds twittered amidst the gnarled branches. The sky was a luminous light blue punctuated with the occasional puffy, pristinely white cloud.

Beneath the shade of a mighty, aged oak, Grelle dozed peacefully. Her hair lay about her like an open fan, and she wore a summer dress with a red and white striped pattern. Her sandals had been kicked off so that she could enjoy the softness of the grass beneath her feet, and a wide-brimmed straw hat lay off to the side. After all, a lady mustn’t let the sun spoil her complexion. Despite her recent desertion, a pair of glasses was perched on the end of her nose. Hannah had used a few devilish spells to make new ones that were almost identical to those she left behind in the reaper realm. Since there was no need for glamours, the marks on her skin—images of delicate violets scattered along her arms and legs and framing her eyes like a lace mask—were clearly visible. Demon’s marks, proclaiming to all the world that Grelle was Hannah’s mate. Her wife.

The recumbent reaper was startled back into consciousness by a loud _thunk!_ as something slammed into the tree, and a youthful male voice spewed a barrage of curses.

“_Shit_! Why the _sodding_ hell is world-leaping so damn hard?!”

Bleary-eyed, Grelle rose to a sitting position to investigate the source of this ruckus. A nondescript, dark-haired man whose most striking feature was his bulbous nose stood by the oak, rubbing his head and grimacing in pain. He wore a suit and spectacles, and his right hand clutched an…axe? Grelle blinked rapidly several times in succession. No. Gods no. Surely this man couldn’t be…

Then he glanced her way, and Grelle saw his eyes. Two-toned green, exactly like her own.

An indecorous “Fuck” slipped from between her clenched teeth. What bloody rotten luck to have another reaper stumble upon her location so soon after she fled from dispatch!

Would this chap recognize her? He certainly wasn’t the type of man who would have struck her fancy, but Grelle was keenly aware that her reputation around the office preceded her. A chill crept down her spine. Management did not look kindly on deserters. Grelle had heard rumors that those who were captured were subjected to solitary confinement, torture, and an ominous-sounding process called “re-indoctrination.” One drunken night at their favorite pub, shortly before he had vanished with Alan Humphries, Eric Slingby let slip that he suspected these unfortunate souls had their cinematic records tampered with. ‘I’ve seen a couple o’ these fellows, Grelle—somethin’s not quite right. They’re…I dunno. Too meek an’ docile, like machines. They smile an’ nod and do their rounds, but it’s like a part of them is missin’. Makes me wonder if the higher-ups messed around with their cinematic records, maybe got rid o’ the notions that made ‘em want to desert in the first place. Keep ‘em compliant.’

Of course, if it was discovered that Grelle had not only taken a demon as her lover but abandoned her post to marry said demon, she wouldn’t have to worry about losing her memories. She’d be executed by death scythe, the worst punishment that could befall a reaper.

“Who the hell are you?” the man squawked as he stared at Grelle, who quickly leapt to her feet. Perhaps the situation was salvageable. The reaper had a formidable death scythe, but he must be fresh out of training if he botched a leap from the reaper’s world to the mortal realm this badly. Seasoned collectors rarely made such errors. If fortune smiled upon Grelle, maybe he wouldn’t recognize her, and she could use her feminine wiles to charm him into lowering his guard.

“Red hair…” Grelle’s stomach sank. “Great Scott!” he cried, pointing at her. “You’re the fugitive Grelle Sutcliff, aren’t you? That barmy bloke who pretends to be a woman!”

“I _am_ a woman,” she retorted harshly, outraged in spite of the gravity of the situation. Moreover, her surname was Annafellows now, not Sutcliff, but this certainly wasn’t the time to elaborate on that point. “And who do you think you are, calling a lady a fugitive?”

The man sneered. “I don’t give a damn. You’re just a deserter with a price on your head.” Oh shit, that was right. After the fiasco with that silver fox of a mortician, management had started offering rewards to anyone who apprehended runaways. “They say you’re a pervert. Did you go chasing off after that Phantomhive butler?”

_I chased after a different demon, you stupid git_, _one who actually loves me_, Grelle wanted to say. Instead, she straightened her spine and squared her shoulders confidently, though apprehension gnawed at her heart. If she’d had her death scythe, she could have easily dealt with this reaper, but it was tucked away in the cottage. While the man seemed strong and wiry, Grelle was skilled with her fists, as many a bully had learned to his detriment during her early, rage-filled academy days (her would-be tormenters had invariably suffered missing teeth and broken bones). The problem was that his death scythe had a long reach, which would make it challenging for Grelle to get close enough to land a proper punch or kick. She’d have to disarm him. But how?

“I have my reasons,” Grelle replied icily.

She could make a dash for the cottage to retrieve her death scythe, but she had no way of guessing how fast this unknown reaper might be, and he might attempt to stop her in her tracks by throwing his scythe at her. The wretched thing looked like it could inflict serious damage. Perhaps she could try breaking off a limb from the oak. Its branches were thick, certainly, but Grelle wielded a goddess’s strength.

“And what’s the deal with those stupid tattoos?” the reaper jeered, tightening his grip on his scythe. “Are they supposed to make you more girly or something?”

“That’s none of your business, brat!” she snarled.

How she wanted to bash his smug, pasty face in!

Of course, now _would_ be the time that Hannah was gods-knew-where. She’d departed earlier to catch a rabbit or two for tonight’s stew and hadn’t yet returned.

A gust of wind, and Grelle’s field of vision was suddenly dominated by a mane of lilac hair. A tall silhouette, framed by tendrils of darkness that undulated like Medusa’s serpentine tresses, now shielded her from the malicious reaper.

“You dare to mock the marks of a demon’s covenant? What a brazen, callow, half-witted excuse for a god you are,” Hannah Annafellows growled. A clawed hand gripped the reaper’s throat, blood trickling down in rivulets as it broke the skin. Bellowing in terror, the reaper flailed with his death scythe, but a shadowy extension of Hannah’s true form wrapped around his arm, bending it at an unnatural angle. A sickening crunch, and his captured limb snapped. The death scythe slipped from his limp hand, falling to the ground with a dull thud. Meanwhile, Hannah’s hand clenched with greater cruelty around the reaper’s throat until his eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets, and dark tentacles wound about his body until he was unable to move a muscle.

Standing behind her wife, Grelle crossed her arms and smirked. “My, my, how the tables have turned, you nasty little man,” she gloated.

“Shall I kill him for you, dear heart?” Hannah asked, looking over her shoulder at Grelle, blue eyes ablaze with fury. Strangled noises emerged from the male reaper’s mouth, and tears welled up at the corners of his eyes. Grelle’s upper lip curled contemptuously. He had been prepared to ruin her life without a shred of mercy, and here he was blubbering like a lily-livered schoolboy! “Well, as much as I love pretty red blood, it might cause a _teensy_ bit of a stir at the dispatch if he just vanished. Is there some way you can prevent him from telling anyone that he saw me?”

“I ought to rip out his tongue,” Hannah purred, provoking a stream of anguished cries from the chastened reaper. “But there’s a hex that I think will do the job quite nicely.” Using her free hand, she scratched an arcane symbol into the reaper’s forehead and chanted a few words in a language Grelle had never heard. He emitted a pained howl as the symbol healed, leaving the skin smooth and whole. “That,” Hannah informed him conversationally as he trembled with fear, “was a binding spell.” She squeezed the pueling young reaper until his bones creaked. “This hurts, doesn’t it? Should you ever attempt to inform anyone about Grelle, by tongue or pen, _that_ is what you will feel…but it will continue until your skeleton is crushed to dust. You’ll probably die of asphyxiation before you experience the curse to its fullest, but I assure you that those final moments shall be utter torment.”

Her tendrils withdrew, and she finally released her grip. The reaper wailed as he landed squarely on his broken arm.

“By the way,” Hannah continued, smiling coldly, “Don’t bother trying to undo it. I am a demon of no common rate, and my power is not to be trifled with.” Her eyes, glowing an eerie crimson, flitted over to his death scythe. “You have been an _exceptionally_ ill-mannered boy, you stripling deity. And you know what happens to naughty children’s toys.” Her smile widened cruelly, revealing her fangs (_so dainty and refined!_ Grelle silently enthused). “They get taken away.” She gestured haughtily at his scythe, which burst into flames. In the space of a few heartbeats, it had been reduced to ash.

The craven reaper gawped at Hannah in horror as the demon’s eyes bored into his. Unable to move, he might have been a peasant turned to stone by a Gorgon’s deadly gaze. “W-who the hell are you?” he squealed, saliva spraying from his quivering lips. Grelle moved to stand by Hannah’s side, putting her head on the demon’s shoulder as she nestled against her. Placing a hand on Grelle’s hip, Hannah looked down on her prey in scorn. “I’m her wife,” she answered, turning to give Grelle a gentle kiss on the cheek that made something exquisitely tender unfurl within her heart. Meanwhile, the reaper spluttered in bewilderment.

“Begone,” Hannah commanded in quiet, venomous tones laden with menace. The reaper clambered away like a wounded animal before finally summoning the strength to “leap,” disappearing into thin air.

Hannah clutched Grelle to her bosom, and Grelle clung to her, feeling the tension seep from her body. It was impossible to be frightened when Hannah held her close like this.

“Did he hurt you, little one?” the demon asked anxiously, rubbing Grelle’s back. “I’m fine, darling. He just gave me a bit of turn,” Grelle replied.

“I should have known better than to take you back here after our honeymoon!” Hannah proclaimed in bitter self-reproach. “And I shouldn’t have left you alone…”

Grelle shushed her. “I’m not made of fine china, _ma moitié_. I should’ve thought to bring my death scythe outside with me. Besides, none of the villages in the area are close enough to our place to make a stop here worthwhile for Collections. I think that bastard was such a twit that he leapt here by accident. You saved the fair damsel in the end…” Grelle paused and looked up. “Speaking of which, how did you know I was in trouble, Han?”

Hannah gestured to the demonic marks on her own skin, though her flowers were red roses rather than the purple violets that graced Grelle’s body. “You know how a contract seal enables a demon to locate their human master almost instantaneously?” Grelle nodded. “It’s a similar principle, but these signs that appeared on our bodies a few weeks ago signify a covenant that runs far deeper than a business arrangement with a future meal.”

She caressed the pattern of violets on Grelle’s face. “These signify that our souls are bound together in what humans refer to as matrimony. We share the same fate, now. When you are in peril, I can sense it. These,” she touched her own markings, “started to burn when that reaper confronted you. I rushed over as soon as I could.”

“You really are my knight in shining armor,” Grelle murmured adoringly, smiling up at her. Hannah blushed at this untempered praise. “But isn’t that what a ‘wife’ is for, dear? I am your shield and the destroyer of your enemies, like Athena’s aegis.”

Bending down, Hannah picked up a bloody burlap sack that lay next to her on the ground. “And faithful cook,” she added with a playful laugh, lightening the mood. “I was able to catch a few rabbits for supper.”

“Splendid!” Grelle cheered. Hannah’s cuisine was to die for, and Grelle loved being able to enjoy proper home cooking every day (alas, the reaper’s efforts in the kitchen just never seemed to pass muster). After retrieving her hat and sandals, Grelle walked arm-in-arm with Hannah back to their cottage.

“After this, it might be prudent to slip away to another dimension for a while,” Hannah suggested. “I’ve travelled far in the course of my lifetime. I know of several universes that I think you would love—all of them very beautiful.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind Grelle’s ear. “Not as beautiful as my little reaper, though.”

“Oh, you stop it!” Grelle ducked her head, grinning.

Marriage was already proving to be quite the adventure. With Hannah as her shield, though, Grelle couldn’t wait to see what else was in store.


End file.
